Of Christmases Past
by Sara Jaye
Summary: When Charlie Chan has to work late on Christmas Eve, his kids pass the time by telling their new stepmother stories of past holidays. Giftfic for SailorWednesdayMercury.
1. Prologue

It didn't seem fair that Pop had to work an extra-long case on Christmas Eve of all nights. Didn't crime understand that Christmas Eve was family time? Every year they'd have a big dinner and exchange one present each, watch the Charlie Brown special on TV and Stanley would read a Christmas story to them before bed. This year they'd only had time for a quick dinner and the special before Pop left.

"Don't look so glum, children," their new stepmother had said. "Your father wouldn't want to see all these long faces on Christmas Eve, would he?"

"I guess not," Flip muttered. "But it's still not fair!"

"Yeah, it's not Christmas without Daddy here," Mimi said with a pout, nestling against Nancy's side. Henry looked over his shoulder from where he was arranging the presents neatly under the tree and nodded.

"Ever since I can remember, we've always had Pop home and we've always done our little tradition," he said. "And it was gonna be super special this year."

"Oh?" Grace raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Because it's our first one with you, of course!" Anne bounded in from where she'd been helping Tom and Alan with the dishes, having overheard the conversation. "After two whole years without a mom on Christmas, we've got one again and she sure is far out!" Grace smiled and shook her head, wrapping an arm around Anne's shoulders.

"Thank you, dear, but flattering your new stepmother won't bring your father home any faster...or let you stay up past bedtime."

"Come on, I mean it!" Anne smiled. "I really think you're great, I don't think I've ever seen Pop so happy in a long time...although, I do have a few more presents to wrap and some books to read for my Christmas break assignment, so I wouldn't mind at least another hour."

"No sale, dear." Grace chuckled. "Although you do present a convincing argument."

"So much for passing time before Pop gets home," Flip groaned. "I already wrapped my presents and I don't have any homework for Christmas vacation!"

"And Tom already helped me wrap all of mine," Nancy said. "And we can't have another dessert since we ate before Pop left."

"Well, we could make hot chocolate and popcorn!" Stanley suggested. "We always have hot chocolate while we open our presents, anyway, and who can say no to popcorn?"

"Hey!" Suzie put down the present she was wrapping, throwing a blanket over it to shield it from prying eyes. "It's only an hour or two until the little ones' bedtime, so why don't we make hot chocolate and tell Grace some stories?"

"Stories?" Grace asked, interest piqued.

"Yeah, stories! We've got a million of them from before you and Pop got married," Suzie said. "It'll help us pass a _little_ time, and it'll be fun!"

"An excellent idea!" Tom slipped a bookmark in his copy of A Christmas Carol. "Clearly, our new maternal unit should be indoctrinated into the eventful history of the Chan Clan. And when I say eventful, I only scrape the tip of the iceberg."

"I'll round up the kids," Henry said. "Alan, you help Suzie make the hot chocolate."

"Right on!" Alan followed his older sister into the kitchen, and fifteen minutes later everyone had changed into their pajamas and sat by the fireplace, a much of cocoa in every hand and a smile on every face.


	2. The Santa Caper

_December 24th, 1960_

"Be _quiet_, Stanley!" Henry hissed. He was six years old, it was the middle of the night and he knew he'd heard noises in the living room. Stanley was just newly five years old and couldn't move quietly if his life depended on it, always tripping or slipping because he didn't know the meaning of _slow down._

"You sure it's him, Henry? Really?" He also didn't know how to whisper too well and his voice carried. A lot. "You really think Santa's here?"

"It's gotta be him. Mom and Pop are asleep and the other kids are too little to go downstairs alone at night," Henry whispered. "Now come on, and don't trip on anything! If we get caught he might leave coal in our stockings."

"Sorry," Stanley said as quietly as he could. Sure enough, there was a broad figure standing by the tree with a sack over his shoulder. "Hey, you were right, it's-"

"_Shh!_" Henry covered his brother's mouth. "Dummy, you're being too loud again!" Stanley squeaked an apology before the two boys went silent, watching the figure closely. It was too dark and they were too far away to be sure if it _was_ him, but the only other person who would be down there right now was a robber, and if it was a robber the alarm would've gone off and the person would be _taking_ things, not leaving them. Unless...no, it couldn't be. Pop had taught them from day one what crooks sounded like, and they sure didn't hum cheery songs under their breath as they were working.

Finally, the man turned around, bag empty, headed towards...the front door? No, he was supposed to come down and up the chimney! Stanley looked at his older brother, confused, and Henry shook his head.

"Then it's not him," he said. Suddenly he heard another set of footsteps and froze. "Ulp!"

"Oh no! We got caught," Stanley moaned.

"Yes, and you've been caught way past your bedtime." Mom stood behind them in her robe and slippers, hair tied back in a messy bun. "Come on, boys, you know better than to sneak out of bed so late. You don't want Santa leaving you a lump of coal, do you?"

"Oh, so he didn't come yet? But then who was leaving stuff under the tree?" Henry asked.

"Probably your father, trying to add a few things he wrapped at the last moment," their mother said, laughing softly. "Now come up, up to bed."

"It was just Pop," Stanley whispered. "So much for finally seeing Santa in person."

The next morning, though, there were far more gifts under the tree than they'd seen last night. All of them in shiny red paper, where Mom and Pop had used green.

And the cookies they'd left were all gone. Banana chocolate chip with peanut butter, and Pop's favorite were shortbread.

Henry and Stanley exchanged a glance, then a grin.

It _was_ him. Santa was real!


	3. You Tried You Failed

_December 13th, 1966_

Let's bake cookies, Anne had said, it'll be fun! In theory, it was a servicable idea; baking cookies for their family and the neighbors would be a practical and delicious way to spread holiday cheer. And unlike most pastries, cookies didn't require nearly as much preparation time...well, certainly less than a cake or strudel would, anyway. So he, Anne and Henry set to work with smiles on their faces. Mom had taken Mimi and Scooter to the doctor, Stanley was studying with a friend, Pop was at work and Suzie was watching Flip and Nancy. They could surprise everyone with a tasty dessert!

Tom should have put a stop to things when he realized they didn't have enough butter. _We'll just use oil,_ Henry said. Not enough flour? Use crushed cereal. Anne suggested adding some cinnamon, Henry added too many eggs and they needed yet more cereal to firm up the mixture. And of course, none of them could resist eating the chocolate chips so there weren't enough. No problem, Anne, said, they'll put in M&Ms.

When they stole tastes of the dough and it didn't taste as good as it should, one would think they'd give up. But Henry suggested they give it a try anyway, and no one ever doubted Henry.

Ten minutes later, they stood in a mess of spilled ingredients before a tray of blobs that _resembled_ cookies, but they clearly weren't. They looked more like piles of loose sand with pebbles in them.

"Well, this certainly was a spectacular failure," Tom muttered.

"Yeah, and we goofed up _big time,_" Anne snorted. "Mom's gonna be home any minute with Scooter and Mimi, how are we gonna get the whole kitchen clean and air out the smell?" Henry sighed, wiping his hands off on a towel.

"You two go take a bath and put on clean clothes. I'll...deal with this."

"Absolutely not! We two are just as guilty of creating havoc as you are," Tom said, refusing to even consider letting his admired older brother clean up his messes. Even if it was partially his. "Anne and I will get to work right away."

"Woah!" The trio turned their heads in the direction of the sound, Alan stood in the doorway surveying the chaos with a shocked grin on his face. "What happened, did a tornado come through here?"

"We were _trying_ to make cookies," Anne said testily. "And if they'd turned out right we'd let you have two just to keep quiet!"

"Hey, what do you take me for? I'm not gonna squeal," Alan said. "But how're you gonna get this all cleaned up-"

"We were getting to that," Henry said irritably, scraping the mess into the trash can frantically. "Look, just...keep an eye out for Mom, okay? If she gets home, distract her."

"I'll do you one better." Alan smiled, picking up a mop and a sponge. "I'll help you out!"

"Me too." Suzie waltzed into the kitchen. "Nancy and Flip went down for their naps, so I'm free. And before you ask, I heard Anne shouting and Tom tripping over things. I had a feeling nothing good could come from it." She shook her head. "And Henry, what made _you_ think it was a good idea to help them? You're hopeless in the kitchen!" Henry gave her a Look, pausing in his frantic scrubbing.

"Well...someone had to supervise! They're only eight, Suzie! Besides, I'm not _that_ bad...I can make toast!"

"You can _burn_ toast, you mean," Alan snorted. "Come on, let's get to work. The more we stand here arguing the less time we have to clean before Mom gets back." That effectively silenced them; Alan was only nine but at times he could be the most mature member of the family. It was hard to ruffle his feathers and he was good at keeping the peace.

By the time Mom returned with the two most junior members of the family, the kitchen was sparkling clean and there was no evidence of the failed attempt at cookies. The next day, Mom set aside the whole afternoon to teach the older children the finer points of baking.

Only Suzie and Alan would actually benefit from them.


	4. Salesgirl Suzie

_December 13th, 1962_

It was the prettiest bracelet she'd ever seen in her life, and it cost more than a month of allowances. She just _had_ to get it, though, it was Mom's birthstone and it was just her size. And if she didn't get it soon some other lady might buy it instead.

But how was she going to make thirty dollars before Christmas? Little girls couldn't get jobs, she was still too young to have a paper route like Johnny down the street or shovel snow like Henry and Stanley.

"Pop?" she asked after dinner that night. "How do people make money when they can't get jobs?" He looked up from the paper, raising an eyebrow.

"What prompted such a question, Suzie?" he asked.

"Well...let's say someone wanted to buy something that cost a lot of money, but they didn't have nearly enough and they couldn't get a job anywhere," she said. "How do people who can't get jobs buy things? Like, if they wanted to give someone a Christmas present?"

"The wise thing to do, Suzie, would be to save your allowance further in advance," her father said. "But, failing that, small enterprises such as lemonade stands or the sale of small crafts might bring in some money. And of course, recycling bottles is both profitable and good for the environment!" He winked. "A smart girl like you will come up with something sooner or later."

"I hope sooner." She smiled and kissed her father's cheek. "Thanks, Pop, I think I just found the answer!"

For the next two weeks, she stood on the corner selling paper violets. She collected glass bottles and cans and bottlecaps to take to the corner store. She saved her allowance, turning down trips to the movies or the ice cream shop with her friends. She did chores for the people next door, searched for change in the couch cushions, took the pennies out of her loafers.

Not once did she tell anyone what she was up to. This was the first present she was going to buy all by herself, and she didn't want them trying to help her by giving up their allowances or snow shoveling money.

The money in her shoebox piled up until three days before Christmas, when she brought it in to the jewelry store. The storekeeper gave her a funny look, as if she was the only little girl who ever brought a big box of coins and dollars to the counter, but she'd finally saved up just enough money to buy the pretty bracelet. She skipped home that afternoon and up to her room, where she wrapped it as neatly as she could and tied the box with a ribbon.

Christmas morning couldn't come soon enough.


	5. Alan's Elves

_December 3rd, 1968_

He thought it would be an honor. The moment his chorus teacher said _Alan Chan will write the songs for our pageant_ he'd been so happy he could have burst on the spot. Then he came home and realized he didn't know _how_ to write Christmas songs. All the time he'd spent watching Henry and Stanley write songs for the rock band they hoped to start and he'd learned nothing. Sure, love songs were different from Christmas songs, but the basic idea had to be the same, right?

"All the good ones are taken," he muttered. "Bells, trees, snow, Santa, Jesus, presents, being bad...didn't these people stop and think of the fifth graders who were gonna need to write stuff for a pageant one day?" And of course he couldn't write rock&roll songs, the pageant took place in the 1800s. Having the kids sing about a "groovy, far-out" Christmas day would just be wrong.

Not that he knew how to write rock lyrics, either, but at least he'd be able to ask Henry and Stanley for help if they were allowed.

"I should've volunteered to design the sets instead," Alan sighed. "What am I gonna do? Rehearsals start in a week and if they don't have any songs to practice I'll get an F!"

"Hey, big bro." Alan's head snapped up to see Anne standing in the doorway, bottle of orange soda in her hand. Tom stood beside her, munching on an apple. "Having a little writer's block?"

"Block? More like writer's _mountain,_" Alan laughed bitterly. "Guys, I'm in a jam. I thought writing songs for the pageant would be fun before I realized I'd actually have to write stuff. I can't use rock music and all the good stuff's been written about."

"Just jazz up some of the classics," Anne said with a shrug. "Everyone loves the classics."

"I believe Alan's chorus instructor intended for him to compose _original_ melodies, Anne," Tom said. "And modifying existing compositions would soundly defeat that purpose."

"Oh, right." Anne took a swig of her soda. "Well...I dunno. You can still write about stuff like snow and Santa, just...play with the keyboard, mess around till you hit on something."

"This is a little more complex than the way you write your book reports, Annie," Alan laughed. "I can't just half-bake my way through this, the whole fifth grade's depending on me."

"Well, then I dunno what to tell you. All the music in this family went to the older kids and probably Tom," Anne said. Tom tossed his apple core into the trash pail, tapped his chin thoughtfully and then snapped his fingers.

"Perhaps the history of the winter celebrations may provide some inspirations! The original winter solstice, for example, or the representation of Christianity in other cultures," he suggested. "Ancient poetry and sonnets revolving around the winter season, or the stories of Jesus Christ and Saint Nicholas."

"Hey..." Alan smiled. Leave it to Tom to come up with the most logical solution. "That sounds great! Maybe Mom and Pop have some books they could loan us for that."

"The local library would be a better source of such information," Tom said. Anne smirked.

"See, this is why you always ask Tom first," she said. "Maybe I can help, too? I know what I said about the musical talents, but..."

"Hey, I need all the help I can get," Alan chuckled. They gathered several notebooks and pencils, put their coats and hats on and told their parents where they were going. They'd have at least an hour to check out books before the library closed, or write down anything from the reference section.

Next Monday, Alan presented a folder full of original songs to his pleased chorus teacher.

"If it's okay, we should give half the credit to my brother and sister," he said.


	6. Silly Question

_December 23rd, 1969_

It was two nights before Christmas and all through the Chan house, everyone was in a frenzy trying to get things ready for Christmas Eve. The older kids were hanging lights and garlands while the twins helped their father prepare tins of cookies for the mailman and the paper boy. The little kids were in the living room, finishing their letters to Santa, when Flip suddenly looked up.

"Hey, Mom!" he said. "What about Chu-Chu?" His mother looked up from her needlepoint with a curious smile, glancing towards the corner where the family's newest addition lay contentedly chewing on a bone. Pop had taken them to the pound a year ago to get a puppy after the folks decided Scooter was big enough for them to have a pet.

"What about him?" Mom asked. Her face was pale and thin and her hands shook; Pop said it was from the cold, but the kids knew Mom was sick and on special medicines and things. She'd be just fine in time for Christmas, though, that's what they all kept saying.

"How's Santa gonna know what he wants for Christmas if he can't write a letter?" Flip asked. Mom laughed, shaking her head a little.

"Dear, Chu-Chu is a dog! Sometimes I think you children forget that," she said. Flip smiled sheepishly; she was kind of right. The kids loved Chu-Chu like another brother and they would always set a place for him at the table or let him sleep on their beds. Sometimes Pop even forgot and gave him an allowance like he did everyone else.

"Well, maybe a little," he said. "But dogs still deserve Christmas presents from Santa, right?"

"Yeah!" Nancy piped up. She was writing her letter in purple marker and had crossed out a lot of words. "Who's gonna write Chu-Chu's letter for him? And hang his stocking?"

"We got Chu-Chu a stocking?" Stanley poked his head in from the kitchen. "I didn't know that! Wait, since he's a dog shouldn't he have two?"

"Children," Mom said, laughing a little to hide a cough, "dogs don't need to write letters to Santa to get their presents."

"But then how's Santa gonna know what he wants?" Flip asked.

"Eh, dogs are easy to shop for," Stanley said. "Squeak toys, balls and bones aren't as complicated as whatever new Barbie Dolls or race cars are in the stores!" Mom smiled.

"Stanley's right, children. Santa knows just what Chu-Chu wants."

"But he still needs a stocking," Flip reminded her. "Or does Santa just leave the presents in his doggie bed?"

"Silly," Suzie said as she walked into the living room. "Dogs don't want to waste time emptying stockings. Santa's going to leave the presents in a little pile by his bed."

"Ohhh." Nancy smiled. "That makes sense!" She hugged the puppy, who'd taken a break from his bone. "Hear that, boy? You're gonna get lots and lots of goodies this year! It's gonna be your best Christmas ever!"

"It's going to be_ the_ best Christmas ever," Stanley said, moving to rest a hand on Mom's shoulder. "Right, Mom?"

Their mother smiled, even as she leaned against the back of her chair and set her needlepoint down in exhaustion.

"Of course it will."


	7. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

By the time the last story had been finished, eleven empty mugs sat on the table and everyone was laughing.

"You certainly have had some colorful Christmases!" Grace said once she caught her breath. "There's never a dull moment in this family, but that goes double for the holidays."

"That's what happens when you've got ten of us," Flip said with a smirk. "And boy, I forgot how goofy we could be as kids. Thinking Chu-Chu had to write Santa a letter?"

"And those cookies," Alan said, rolling his eyes. "Even Nancy and Stanley didn't want any! But at least we found out fairly early that Annie's no chef." He smiled. "She sure was a big help with the songs, though. And so were you, Tom." Tom beamed.

"A logical conclusion of all my studies. I'd held quite the interest in yuletide celebrations of yore long before, which I knew would someday prove a practical application to everyday life."

"Yet you still don't know how to talk in English," Scooter said with a snort. Tom huffed slightly and rolled his eyes, leaning back against Henry's shoulder.

"Someday you'll know the value of an expansive vocabulary."

"I just can't believe Suzie earned all that money all by herself," Nancy said. "And she was only Scooter's age then! Last time I had a lemonade stand it ran for a whole weekend and I only made four dollars!"

"Probably because you and the rest of the kids kept drinking it all," Stanley teased. "But it's okay, I did the same thing the first time Henry and I had a lemonade stand."

"Hey, it was hot that day," Mimi said with a pout. "What did you want us to do, dry up?"

"You could have gone into the house for water," Anne said.

"Or taken your canteens outside with you," Henry added. Grace chuckled, taking in the children's banter. They'd done their best to make her feel like one of them after she and Charlie had been married, but tonight was the first time she truly felt like she was one of the family. She'd heard plenty of stories about the children from Charlie and Miranda, of course, but these were tales only the children could tell her themselves.

Miranda could never be replaced, the love her children still held for her shone through in their memories. But she could feel the love and care they had for her in them sharing those memories, letting her imagine a young Suzie carrying a bag full of change to the jewelry store, Henry and Stanley spying on Santa, Anne and Tom spilling flour and eggs all over the kitchen floor.

"Thank you," she said. "For sharing all of these stories. I feel like I know you kids much better now."

"Aw, it was nothing." Anne smiled. "Those were some of the best times we ever had! It was fun reliving them."

"And besides, you're one of us now! You deserve to know all our dirty little secrets," Stanley quipped. Henry rolled his eyes and gently bopped him on the head with a nearby pillow.

"Grace, we're really glad you and Pop got married," he said. "And even if we couldn't bring you in on the usual tradition, this was still a great first Christmas Eve with you." Grace blinked back tears, smiling as she hugged each of her stepchildren.

"We'll have plenty more wonderful Christmases to come," she promised.

When Charlie came home much later that night, he was greeted with smiles and hugs from everyone followed by a cup of cocoa from Suzie and ten children eager to tell him all about how they'd spent Christmas Eve.

A new tradition was born that night. From then on, they would spend every night before Christmas eating dinner beside the tree, opening presents and sharing memories of Christmases past.


End file.
